


White Harbour

by mathildia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 23:03:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13891008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mathildia/pseuds/mathildia
Summary: Post S7.Brienne leaves the ship at White Harbour and rides for Winterfell, glad of it.





	White Harbour

**Author's Note:**

> Brief mentions of canon non-con in Sansa's past.

Brienne leaves the ship at White Harbour and rides for Winterfell, glad of it.

When she arrives Sansa is standing on the balcony and nods a greeting that doesn’t disguise her smile as much as she thinks it does. 

Brienne has to wait until after dinner for them to be alone. She says, “Where’s Baelish? Did he go back to the Eerie?”

Sansa is sitting on the edge of the bed. This room that used to belong to Sansa’s parents is cosy, heated by water from the hot springs under the castle. Sansa is unbuttoning the high neck of her gown and looks pleased with herself; there’s a blush of pink on her white throat.

“Sansa?” says Brienne.

Sansa smiles. Brienne knows that smile. 

“You didn’t?”

The smile is wider. “Arya did it.”

“At your command.”

“Naturally.”

“I wish you’d waited for me to return, my lady.”

Sansa stands and drops her gown. It doesn’t do in Winterfell to go without woollen underthings, but Sansa is naked as black silk slips from her skin. Brienne swallows. And stares. Stares, half dazed, at the flattened off curve at her hip, the little sweet shapes of her tits, her secret rose gold cunt. She takes step towards Brienne. Another, and Brienne can put a big hand on her hip, pull her in.

“Do you?” says Sansa. “Would you like to have watched it, my knight.”

Brienne kisses her, once and sweetly, on her pink mouth before she finishes speaking. Before that kiss is over she slips a hand between Sansa’s legs. Sansa gasps, clings tight. Brienne still has her gloves on, but she can feel the slip of wetness. 

“I would like to have done it.” Brienne feels conscious of how clothed she is. How many layers of travelling leathers and cotton shift and wool cover her from her neck to her heels, while Sansa is bare, pale skin glowing in the firelight.

Sansa is so beautiful. So feminine. Such a _lady_. Sometimes it makes Brienne’s heart hurt a little. To see that thing she could never be, _should have been_ , so close to her. She used to think her life would have been sweeter if she had been beautiful, but now she knows better. What good had it done Sansa, so be so delightful to look upon?

She reaches up and takes Sansa’s chin in her palm. It fits into it so neatly. She slips her thumb up and into Sansa’s mouth, pulls her jaw down so her mouth is levered open. Sansa’s eyes flutter closed and Brienne leans closer, and down, and kisses her. It’s a harder kiss this time, it’s the kiss Brienne has been dreaming about during those nights on the road, those night on the ship, feeling the rocking, touching herself and thinking of the slip of Sansa’s warm, wet mouth.

Sansa moans. Brienne pulls out of the kiss and puts her thumb back in Sansa’s mouth, letting Sansa suck as she fucks it in and out. Sansa’s eyes are open now, locked with Brienne’s, dreamy and compliant as she lets herself weaken in Brienne’s strong arms.

Brienne is the only person Sansa is weak for. 

She likes the differences between them. Sansa is tall for a maid but Brienne still towers over her by almost a head and with a chest that’s twice as broad. Brienne’s hands are twice the size of Sansa’s and her fingers twice as thick. She presses one of her big fingers into Sansa’s mouth, feeling a rush of heat as the bulge of her knuckle pops inside.

Sansa sucks on her finger for a moment, gazing up at Brienne, a rosy blush on her milk-pale cheeks. Brienne watches her, feels her body respond to Sansa’s perfect beauty and increasing desperation. She draws her finger in and out, slowly, at first, and then fucking faster, harder. 

Sansa moans, her eyes go wide and around Brienne’s finger she presses out, “Please, gods, please,”

Brienne pulls her finger away, whispers, “What do you wish, my queen of the north?”

Sansa moans and says, “Fuck me.”

Brienne smiles, Sansa so proud and queenly, will beg Brienne to fuck her and only Brienne gets to see her without her mask, naked and vulnerable like this. Sometimes when she sees Sansa sitting on the high table or ruling in the Great Hall she remembers her like this, squirming in her arms, crying and begging to be fucked, cunt wet, aching, making her rut like a an animal. She thinks of the men who have taken Sansa unwillingly. How none of them ever saw her like this. Brienne wishes she could have been the one to kill them. 

When they are on the bed she pulls the dagger from her belt, and Sansa’s eye go wide like the bluest sky. She’s looking at the hilt thick and round, a heft of metal covered in ridged leather. She knows that dagger hilt well now.

Brienne takes a rag from her pocket and uses it to pad the blade so she can hold it tight. 

Thrust it hard. 

She places the blunt end of the dagger hilt between Sansa’s legs. Sansa moans again and spreads them wider. 

Brienne is strong. She lets her coat fall away, leaving her arms bare, slightly luminous in the candlelight. Sansa likes to see Brienne’s arms when she fucks her. See the strength in her.

And at the sight of Brienne’s arms Sansa moans, “Hard, please, fuck me hard.”

Brienne smiles and, in response, slides the dagger hilt into Sansa as slow and gentle as she can. Sansa keens like a dog, canting her hips up like she’s trying to swallow the world, and Brienne relents and start to fuck hard, jolting her arm and watching Sansa thrash her head from side to side, tipping over the edge already. 

Sansa loves to get fucked, before she found out how perfectly sized her dagger hilt was they used candles. It got ridiculous. She and Sansa could barely stroll around Winterfell after dark without the sight of the candles, lit and flickering, making them rush for Sansa’s bedroom so Sansa could bend over and beg for one inside her.

Later, when Brienne pulls the dagger free, the hilt glistening, sticky, she will clean it off in Sansa’s mouth and Sansa will kiss her, roll her onto her back and undress her as she kisses down her torso to lick and kiss her cunt until she is lost to this doomed world

For Brienne knows how the world will end, she saw it climb out of a box in King’s Landing. She believes John when he says there are more of them than they can fight. Believes the wall will fall. Brienne always listened to stories. 

She pulls Sansa closer, wraps her body around her, cups a hand over her cunt and feels the pulse there. 

Outside the world is ending, winter is coming. In here, the heavy air in the heated room smells like life itself.


End file.
